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The NewsFri, 01 Sep 2017 15:55:16 +0000en-UShourly1Baring All Down Under – Fraser Island extracthttp://deeksobserver.com/2017/06/baring-all-down-under-fraser-island-extract/
Thu, 01 Jun 2017 15:53:35 +0000http://deeksobserver.com/?p=1522It was other people’s turn to do the cooking tonight so I pulled up my portable camp chair and started lusciously swigging a beer. I was feeling tired from a day of drinking rum and was looking forward to having some food to sort me out, which arrived in good time. After scoffing down the chicken and potato meal quicker than an obese American eating a McDonalds, I felt like less of a corpse. Although it was my turn to help out with the washing I decided to leave this to others more deserving and sipped another beer before the drinking games – and goon – started again as darkness set in.

With spirits high a bundle erupted between myself, Mark and the Scousers. I relished rubbing people’s heads into the sand and fending off the attempted onslaughts. As usual poor Mark bore the brunt of it all. I performed an elbow drop on his head before administering a solid knee to the back, which seemed to finish him off as he lay motionless face down in the sand. “Victory,” I declared with one foot resting on his face, positioned in a triumphant pose. I felt a bit sorry for Becky whose pair of glasses got smashed in the melee, rendering her virtually blind for the rest of the trip. “At least you’re only missing out on a morning of seeing stuff,” I said helpfully, doing my best to put a positive spin on matters and save myself some guilt.

“Thanks Steve for that,” came the sarcastic, slightly miffed, response.

“Well if you want to play with the big boys then you’ll get hurt,” I said, helping her to see that, in fact, it was really her fault. “I think it was Mark who broke them when he jumped on you though,” I added, attempting to soften the blow and divert attention away from me. Apportioning blame didn’t seem to make her feel any better but at least I could look in the mirror knowing I had tried.

By now a load of campfires had been set up and people were huddled in groups drinking and chatting just like the night before. With no bars or clubs this was as good as it got with the nightlife. But people really were making the most of their limited options. An amorous couple, who had probably known each other for all of five minutes, had been spotted by Sam cementing their relationship just over a mound where they thought no one would see them.

]]>Baring All Down Under – The Boat Trip extracthttp://deeksobserver.com/2017/05/baring-all-down-under-the-boat-trip-extract/
Mon, 01 May 2017 15:34:48 +0000http://deeksobserver.com/?p=1520Not one to ever feel completely safe from the wildlife in Australia, I asked Popeye – the name I had now officially assigned him – if he knew of many shark attacks on humans in the area. As soon as I asked the question I regretted it, especially as we were going snorkelling the following day. “The most recent one,” he began. It was not the opening I had hoped for, with the seeming implication that ferocious shark attacks were a run of the mill thing in these parts that no one batted an eyelid over. I could hardly say I was surprised, just disappointed to know the truth, as where possible I like to employ the tactic of burying my head in the sand.

“Yeah so the shark took her under and had a real go at her,” Popeye continued, with a kind of disturbed relish, as he stared menacingly into my eyes. “But she started punching it, over and over again until it gave up and swam off. She was lucky. Some woman though.”

Too right, I thought. “She must have been the bionic woman,” I said, still slightly dazed from learning of the incident.

“Oh yeah she was a feisty one.”

“But it didn’t happen near here did it?” I asked more in hope than expectation.

“Wasn’t far away at all, as it goes. But you’ll be all good…we don’t normally get that many attacks, not considering how many sharks we have out here anyway.”

I paused momentarily, confused at what he meant. “So you don’t normally have many incidents but you do sometimes? Is that what you’re saying?” I’ve never been a fan of the word “normally” and none more so than at that precise moment in time.

He sucked in some smoke and turned towards me. “Well you can never be sure but even the rescue guys said she was unlucky. Wrong place, wrong time.”

Umm. How I loved the reassuring Australian logic. It really didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was “unlucky” and in the “wrong place at the wrong time”. I could accept the “unlucky” argument to a point. But to use that as an explanation to reassure us felt like encouraging a friend to go on a date with an axe murderer – “Oh go on, he seems nice enough, he’s only killed two people that we know of” – and then turning around and saying she was a bit unlucky when found with an axe in her skull: “It’s a shame but she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” the friend would say afterwards, before adding, “Oh well, nothing we can do about it now.”

After downing a couple more beers in quick succession to numb the reality of the painful interlude with Popeye, I retreated to more normal surroundings at the front end, which by now was virtually empty with most people, surprisingly, calling it a night except the Swedes, Mark and Ben.

]]>Baring All Down Under – Cairns extracthttp://deeksobserver.com/2017/04/baring-all-down-under-cairns-extract/
Sat, 01 Apr 2017 15:31:11 +0000http://deeksobserver.com/?p=1518I made my way back to the bus collection point after a restful afternoon, though slightly miffed I had been unable to do an adventure tour. I consoled myself with a giant chocolate ice cream as I wandered back through the village before climbing on the coach. About half way through our journey – and with darkness now setting in – we began to make our way through dense forest. More worryingly was that trees either side of the road were astonishingly ablaze with giant flames that towered over the bus. I wasn’t alone in my anxiety, as others fearfully looked out the window with stern facial expressions, unsure if we were about to be burnt to a crisp in the outback wilderness.

The chatty driver had reached a plateau and was not saying a word either, adding to the foreboding sense of it all. Although, knowing the Australian tour guides that was probably a deliberate ploy; enhancing the drama and experience for those on their trip. When he did finally decide to talk it was as if someone had lit a small bonfire. “As you can see ladies and gentleman we have a few flames to the side of us to brighten our dark journey home,” he observed dryly. “With the ground so dry we sometimes get these forest blazes but it’s all good.” He didn’t seem like a worried man, which I suppose was reassuring for those of us on board who had naturally assumed we were about to be burnt to a crisp. But with people who talk about being chased by a crocodile like it is nothing out of the ordinary, you always have to make some allowances.

After driving between burning forest for several miles we finally pulled clear, prompting a collective sigh of relief, grateful Mother Nature had decided not to cremate us all. Arriving back in Cairns I joyfully leapt off the bus and into the nearest bar for a well deserved beer, wondering what the life expectancy was for living in this dangerous and unforgiving part of the country.

Apart from the bushfires, I was aware that Cairns, like Darwin, also had its fair share of dangers from the wildlife, so was glad to hear a particular tale about an errant crocodile only after I had left. On this occasion a 1.5 metre crocodile was discovered on one of the busiest streets in Cairns, Mulgrave Road, in the early morning rush hour trying to cross to the other side. A police officer and road worker cornered the reptile using brooms, while a crowd gathered round to watch, rather than run as fast as they could in the opposite direction. A local reptile remover, who happened to be passing, stopped to help out and put a blanket over its eyes to calm the beast before he kneeled on its back to restrain it and place a rubber band over its jaws. Discussing his exploits, the man later said: “There’s no better way to start a morning than by catching a croc.”

]]>Baring All Down Under – Darwin extracthttp://deeksobserver.com/2017/02/baring-all-down-under-darwin-extract/
Wed, 01 Feb 2017 16:17:43 +0000http://deeksobserver.com/?p=1516After the show we had some breakfast in a hut adjacent to the Alligator Rivers – a misleading name, as we would be floating above the larger member of the family, the crocodile (Explorer Lieutenant Phillip Parker King gave the name in 1820 in the mistaken belief it was alligators in the river and not crocodiles, and for some reason no one has thought to change it since to avoid confusion). Once everyone had munched down toast and slurped their coffee we all had to sign a document kindly informing us that should we be savagely killed by a crocodile on safari then the operators could not be held responsible.

Having cheerfully signed my life away, my anxiety went up a notch or two when I noticed newspaper cut-outs plastered across the hut like wallpaper. Judging from the headlines there seemed to be a common theme: death and severe injury. “Giant Croc Kills Unsuspecting girl,” read the first one I saw; “Swimmer Pulled Under by 12ft Croc Still Missing”. I loved the optimism of this one, with there being the suggestion the person might somehow have escaped after being dragged under the murky water by the ferocious beast. “Man Loses Arm in Boat Attack,” was one that particularly worried me, as I would be in a vessel myself shortly, though I hoped it would be something far more substantial than the one in that incident. “Croc Hunts Family,” another read. At least this one had a happy ending, though, with no one eaten for a change. “Swimmers Presumed Dead After Croc Pounces,” a more chilling one said. Somehow I didn’t think I would be going for a dip in a river while in Darwin, even with sweat pouring off me like I’d been in the shower.

As far as I was concerned anyone who went swimming or remotely near the water in the Darwin region needed to be taken away by men in white jackets, with there a very real possibility you would become lunch. How anyone could joyfully splash about in the water when there’s every chance a 14ft predator might be eyeing you up was beyond me. While I sympathised with those who had been eaten by crocodiles, I did think they were slightly naïve for going for a paddle in one of the rivers.

I turned to the man in the hut, who I’d just signed my life away to. “You sure know how to get us in the mood for the boat tour,” I joked, still taking in the various headlines.

He smiled devilishly. “Yes we do mate…some big, big crocs out there,” he replied, as if to reinforce the point, in case I wasn’t yet fully aware of what I was getting myself in to. “Was even chased by one myself a few years back,” he added, his grin now widening like it was all just a big game. I couldn’t help but admire the nonchalant way these people integrated with their highly volatile environment like it was nothing more than having a few rabbits and foxes around, all while dismissing their terrifying ordeals like they were just mosquito bites.

Suddenly the trip was upon us, as we were all rounded up before being told to make our way down from the hut to the boat.

]]>Baring All Down Under – Crime Fighting extracthttp://deeksobserver.com/2016/12/baring-all-down-under-crime-fighting-extract/
Thu, 01 Dec 2016 16:10:30 +0000http://deeksobserver.com/?p=1514One morning having got up at the crack of dawn to watch an important football match from back home, I drunkenly stumbled across a newspaper office after celebrating a fine early morning victory with a few beers. Being a journalist I felt a sense of serendipity at my discovery and chewed over the possibility of contacting the organisation to see if there was any work going – after sleeping off the booze, of course.

I realised that I had unwittingly become sucked into the backpacker lifestyle, including doing the same type of jobs, which I had proved beyond all doubt I was useless at. I boldly came to the conclusion, therefore, that I would apply to the newspaper and hopefully put an end to humiliating myself via my conference erections’ career.

To my joy, I was contacted by the newspaper within a few days asking if I would like to come in. During a friendly chat with the editor I was then offered night shifts on the crime desk, including at the weekend when the real action took place. “Saturday night is normally the busiest night….and when we get the most murders,” I was helpfully informed. “So hopefully there will be plenty for you to get stuck into.” Fascinating as it was to get an insight into the patterns of criminality in Sydney, I was also instantly filled with a warm feeling like I had come home after being reminded of the black humour that existed within the industry. “Sounds like fun,” I said rubbing my hands gleefully at the prospect.

I was told I would be working closely with a photographer on my shifts and that it was vital we didn’t stray too far from one another too often when out on the streets in the early hours. “It’s the most dangerous shift and we’ve had people attacked before on it, so just watch each other’s back,” a senior figure remarked as I was introduced to some of the staff.

The more I was told about the job the more I liked the sound of it, though it sounded like a body shield wouldn’t have gone amiss. Essentially the shift boiled down to driving around in a company car looking for as much trouble as we could possibly get our hands on – the more dangerous the better. The way this would be achieved was by eavesdropping on conversations between fire and ambulance crews via a radio scanner, which would helpfully alert us to where incidents were taking place. This was perfectly legal and meant we were getting fresh information as it happened rather than waiting hours for the yawning press departments to confirm something. That’s if they could be bothered to at all.

Since the police had gone encrypted a year earlier it was unfortunately now illegal to listen in on their conversations, much to the dismay of the newsroom. This had made getting juicy stories a lot harder and taken some of the fun out of the shift, so I was told. But on the plus side it meant your life expectancy was significantly higher, as it was now considerably more difficult to pitch-up in the middle of a shoot-out or lead the way during a high-speed car chase.

]]>Baring All Down Under – Messy Nights extracthttp://deeksobserver.com/2016/11/baring-all-down-under-messy-nights-extract/
Tue, 01 Nov 2016 16:03:18 +0000http://deeksobserver.com/?p=1512Being in the hostel was a bit like being in a halls of residents at university, though I never remember drunk couples barging into busy rooms and stripping down naked and start having sex while others sat a few feet away playing scrabble, as I was delightfully informed one day. Or having sex pest women like an Asian girl with no front teeth and only a smattering of English, who walked round trying to pull men’s towels off when they weren’t looking or rubbing various legs while they were asleep, before eventually getting her rewards, resulting in her being highly regarded by countless men for her altruistic services to them.

In the hostel people were only too aware that it represented a brief stay so felt obliged to do as they pleased. The worst scenario would be getting kicked out but who really cared about that? Even members of staff didn’t seem bothered about what went on. In fact several females reported that some employees were using the place as a kind of knock-up shop. With the use of the master key they had reportedly been entering female dorms before trying it on, or sometimes taking their drunk captures to vacant rooms. A variety of women spoke candidly of the occurrences but saw it as an annoyance rather than anything more sinister. “He lets himself in and starts trying to touch me when I’m in just a towel the slimy twat,” one girl said.

The day, though, when the real carnage and scandal took place was on a designated night once a week when the hostel came together. My debut appearance at one of these much hyped nights out started with free drinks – advertised as sangria but in reality was red goon – in the bar area, where backpackers and hostel staff could be seen guzzling away like it was their last night on earth. Many of the men, including the male members of staff, of course, were fleeting about speaking to anything in a skirt, occasionally taking the sly opportunities that presented themselves to gently squeeze scantily dressed bottoms of the girls in a light-hearted kind of way in order to test the water and see if, after they had been plied with alcohol, they would potentially be fair game for a roasting.

I stood near the bar area, ensuring my drink was always topped up while making small talk with some of the revellers. Feeling like I was in a nursery, I made sure I got more than my allotted allowance of drink before it was time to depart for the bar crawl. Then, after everyone was finally rounded up, we made our way onto the street like a large group of special kids out for a day trip. As we made our way down a packed George Street I felt a lingering sense of humiliation that I was part of this youthful convoy making its way conspicuously through the city.

]]>Baring All Down Under – A New Home extracthttp://deeksobserver.com/2016/10/baring-all-down-under-a-new-home-extract/
Sat, 01 Oct 2016 14:56:09 +0000http://deeksobserver.com/?p=1509Following two weeks of purgatory it was time for me to move into the $18 a night 20-bed dorm hostel down the road that I had been promised. I must admit the thought of sharing a room with 19 strangers did not exactly fill me with joy but the dirt cheapness of it was a massive appeal.

After doing the formalities of signing in I heaved my way up the spiral staircase from reception to level 3 and, after steadying myself, made my way down the corridor to room 301. I didn’t need to use the key card as the door was propped open by a flip-flop, which I found intriguing and sensed was an indication of the room’s happy go lucky nature. I paused warily, before gently pushing open the door and quietly slipping into the giant sized room. I had never seen so many beds in one place and thought I had accidentally been placed in a homeless shelter.

There were bunk beds running parallel all the way down the room, with ridiculously cheap plastic chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and a sofa that looked like it had been plucked from the dump – no doubt it probably had. Unsure which bed I was supposed to have, I wandered cautiously about before spotting a bottom bunk bed in the corner that looked free. I glanced around the room and noticed a handful of people on their beds who were listening to music, on their laptops or reading.

I felt like I was in a gold fish bowl, with every move observed by the sea of watching eyes. With my new environment I knew that even such luxuries as a brief scratch to my balls would now have to be performed with great care when no one was looking, rather than the usual elongated hearty rub until I felt immensely satisfied the itch had gone. The same principle applied to my bum, while I also knew I’d have to be wary of releasing bodily odours when close-by to others. After all, I’m English not French.

Not to mention the greater care I would be forced to take in covering my genital regions, particularly when wearing boxer shorts that offered little in the way of coverage. I could just picture the scene where I was introducing myself to fellow backpackers, before returning to my bed only to realise in horror that my manhood had been poking out the side, or one of the many holes, in all its glory. I would then forever be known as “Winkle Steve”.

I decided to check out the facilities. Wandering into the kitchen I pulled a glass from the shelf to refresh myself with some water from the tap. As it flowed out I noticed it was a bright white colour, almost identical to what you get from cows. “This must be the milk tap,” I mocked, holding the glass up. Bravely, I took a gulp hoping I wouldn’t be poisoned, before noticing there were two fridges that had bags with everyone’s food in. There was a large table in the middle with two ovens in the corner. One of which had a sign, “Not working”, that due to the smattering of old food looked like it had been there a while. “They like to keep on top of things here,” I observed and walked out shaking my head in disgust.

Next, I went to the toilets and shower area. Although the toilet seat was hanging off, everything else appeared to be in working order. Having fetched my towel I then entered the shower, where there was an arrow pointing clockwise for hot water. I turned the knob, naturally expecting lovely heated water to come effortlessly flowing out. But instead was only intermittently sprayed by ice drops shipped in from Antarctica. Jumping out of the line of fire I quickly fiddled with the handle and was finally rewarded with the occasional drop of lukewarm water, after figuring out the knob was the wrong-way-round.

To make matters worse there was someone in the shower next to me, clearly enjoying a warm soak while blissfully humming to himself. Looking down at the floor I noticed a gap at the bottom of the separation in which I unwittingly saw the reflection of the man. It was far from a pretty sight. But with me now totally naked I suddenly realised that if I could see his reflection then surely he could see me. Without a second’s thought I grabbed my towel and leapt out of the shower with foam from my shower gel still frothing under my armpits.

]]>Baring All Down Under – Homeless extracthttp://deeksobserver.com/2016/09/baring-all-down-under-homeless-extract/
Thu, 01 Sep 2016 14:46:35 +0000http://deeksobserver.com/?p=1507This was the natural progression of a backpacker, I was told: you start off slumming it in hostels where you meet people, before branching out into the luxury of an apartment. But as far as I could see it was simply living just as you would in a hostel, but in a flat with people that, on the whole, were not all total strangers. Where you would normally see a stranger’s bare arse hanging out while they were asleep, this was merely replaced with the buttocks of someone you knew.

After doing enough rounds of drink to leave me in serious danger of collapsing, a group of us decided to hit the town. But such was my state of inebriation that my last recollection of the night was of me holding a heated discussion with a total stranger at the bar. For some reason I was lecturing him on how he had let himself down with his over-zealous drinking. Swaying like a small tree in a gale force wind, while banging my hand down forcefully to make my point, I demanded that he should take greater personal responsibility with his drinking. “What like you?” the cheeky individual countered, highlighting the irony of such a statement coming from someone who could barely stand up.

“Ah yes,” I spluttered decisively, spraying saliva gloriously all across his face. “But I’m not a bell-end.” With the argument won I strolled off victoriously to the bar for another drink.

That little chat was the last thing I could recall from the night as I woke up in a state of some disorientation. This was compounded as I wearily lifted my head and looked around wondering where I was before slowly realising that, for some bizarre reason, I was actually in the television room in the hostel where I had just fled the day before. Parts of my memory slowly started coming back from the previous night, as I remembered my phone running out of battery and then losing everyone, before deciding that my best option for shelter, unless under a cardboard box on the street, was to crash on the comfy bean bags in the television room of the hostel.

As I sat up I noticed there were four others sprawled out. It appeared they too were not there to watch television, and were in fact also utilising the hostel’s amenities, which would have been a generous gesture by the place had they been aware of what was happening.

To make matters worse Veiko was one of the people. After spotting me he was straight over, causing the pain in my head to worsen. “I’ve got no money so I’m staying in the TV room for a while,” he said slowly, in that crazy voice of his, eyes looking pained by his sorrowful existence. “Then I’m going to work on a farm. But if I can’t then I will punch someone so I can get arrested and they will deport me. At least I won’t have to pay for the flight home.”

Unfortunately I found myself, yet again, stuck with the Finn. He informed me that Greg was now finally doing the IT work to pay off his debt to the hostel and would be heading up to Brisbane once he had served his time.

After grabbing something to eat from the free food section in the kitchen and lazing about watching some of the worst television programs ever screened, boredom kicked in, inevitably prompting the purchase of a four litre box of goon and another afternoon and night of drinking. My plans to resolve my accommodation crisis had once again been shelved so I could get slaughtered.

]]>Baring All Down Under – Cultural Assimilation extracthttp://deeksobserver.com/2016/08/baring-all-down-under-cultural-assimilation/
Mon, 01 Aug 2016 14:37:27 +0000http://deeksobserver.com/?p=1505In sloth-like mode, it took me over an hour and a half to get ready. But not having anything to get ready for it didn’t really matter too much. Zapped of energy and with the afternoon getting on I forced myself out to explore more of the city. After being subjected to the routine fleecing for food and coffee I ambled through the city before stumbling upon the Royal Botanic Gardens, a tropical paradise full of natural beauty with its idyllic water features, colourful plants and trees, and bizarre but engrossing wildlife. All of this with stunning views looking out over the harbour and just a short walk from the chaos of the city. It provided a peaceful sanctuary where people could escape the rigours of work and lay about idly on the pristine grass while breathing in the warm fragrant air.

Walking along I spotted a selection of strange, long beaked birds with fat bodies, supported by long thin stalk legs. Apart from reminding me of a friend who drank too much beer, it struck me how similar in character they were to pigeons, as they meandered about at the pace of a dawdling ant while munching on the smallest crumbs that were available to them. Although the strange creatures, known as Ibis birds, appeared harmless enough I didn’t much fancy getting too close to them. Unfortunately this is the problem when you come to Australia from England; you are taught to think that every bit of wildlife is a potential killer, even when it’s about as harmful as a gerbil. Still, I was taking no chances and cautiously sidestepped a menacing group of them.

A few moments later I heard some deafeningly loud screeching. I looked over to see who was being murdered. But after raising my head I spotted a load of birds, all of different colours who were darting about like spitfires from tree to tree. They seemed incredibly pissed off about something. As I got nearer I saw a few at ground level brazenly walking up to people, demanding they be given some food. At this point I realised they were none other than parrots. It was the punk style haircut that had given it away in the end.

After being tormented for years by an aggressive family parrot that would sadistically fly across the room and eyeball me having landed on my shoulder, before proceeding to peck painfully away at my face and teeth until I pleaded to be rescued, I thought it best to give them a wide birth as well and accelerated past while avoiding absolutely all eye contact. Nonetheless, it was a reminder of the incredibly exotic wildlife that inhabited the country, as opposed to the mundane seagulls and pigeons that we have to put up with back home.

]]>Baring All Down Under – Arriving in Sydney extracthttp://deeksobserver.com/2016/07/baring-all-down-under-arriving-in-sydney-extract/
Fri, 01 Jul 2016 11:34:08 +0000http://deeksobserver.com/?p=1501So, after putting a blindfold on, I took a deep breath before bravely stabbing a pen into a map to see where I would be heading. After landing on Iraq and Libya, I shrugged off these not overly appealing destinations and quickly opted for one final thrust to decide my fate. I wearily pulled the blindfold off my face and looked down. I squinted awkwardly in a bid to establish the country my pen was sticking in to. Though, in truth, I could have done with a large magnifying glass, with the country’s size not much more than the ballpoint of my pen.

With my eye now firmly pressed against the map as I struggled to see the name, I was then met with severe difficulties in pronouncing its name. “Van-u-atu…Vanuatu,” I mumbled, scratching my head. It’s fair to say I wasn’t over familiar with the country, which, as it turned out, was none other than one of the tiny pacific islands near Australia and New Zealand.

Following a short period of deliberation I decided that under the terms of my self-imposed agreement to go somewhere I could be understood, I would sadly have to forfeit Vanuatu and instead go to the nearest English speaking country – Australia.

So that was it then. I was officially heading Down Under. I felt strangely liberated, despite having absolutely no idea what was in store for me while, still, wrestling with whether I was in fact doing the right thing. After all, I had never done anything remotely like this before and I was only too aware of the endless possibilities of how things could quickly turn into a living hell. Nonetheless, I manfully did my best to banish such thoughts and figured I would just have to deal with whatever mud was inevitably thrown in my face. And, who knows, maybe even some good would come of this brave adventure I was embarking on.